


Room for More

by annabagnell



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Belly Kink, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnancy Kink, Size Kink, Stuffing, belly stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:07:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabagnell/pseuds/annabagnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You weren't planning anything special for it?" Sherlock asked, holding the carton to his chest with several degrees of suspicion. </p><p>"Who says you eating it can't be special?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Room for More

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [更多空间](https://archiveofourown.org/works/973643) by [annabagnell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabagnell/pseuds/annabagnell), [lesley1215](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesley1215/pseuds/lesley1215)



> Hello again, my kinky friends.  
> This was the result of some genius's comment that there was 'always room for more' mpreg in this fandom, and I thought that 'room for more' sounded an awful lot like a stuffing kink fic. So here we are.  
> I know that quite a lot of things in this fic are unrealistic. As usual, I've temporarily suspended the rules of reality as they don't serve the kink very well.  
> Enjoy, and comments are of course always welcome!

_What are your two favourite flavours of ice cream?_

_French vanilla and toffee. Why? -SH_

_See you at home._

Sherlock was loafing on the couch, hand on his belly and lost in thought, when the door clicked open and John appeared, toting several grocery bags. He remained silent as John unpacked, humming quietly, and utterly ignoring Sherlock's pointed silence. He supposed after a few minutes that perhaps John hadn't realised he was on the couch, and cleared his throat quietly to gain John's attention. 

"Can I help you?" John asked immediately, not even turning from where he was stacking cans in the cupboard. 

"No," Sherlock replied, and went back to being silent. 

A few minutes passed wherein John finished stocking the shopping and carefully folded the paper bags, stowing them with their well-used mates in the thin cupboard. Sherlock grew more and more concerned as minutes passed with no conversation, no acquiesce of John's strange ice cream purchase. Sherlock's fingers drummed against his swollen middle as he grew more agitated. 

"What would you like for dinner?" John's voice broke the silence and Sherlock jumped, trying to conceal his reaction but he could tell by the look on John's face that he'd seen it. 

"It doesn't matter to me," Sherlock responded. "I'm not that hungry." John looked over briefly before nodding and turning to pull four slices of bread from the new loaf on the countertop. 

"Peanut butter, then?" 

"Sure." 

"Did you eat lunch?" 

"No."

"Hmm."

"Going to berate me?" Sherlock sneered, looking for conflict after a day at home alone. 

"No, not at all." John spread peanut butter thick on one slice, topped it with the second slice and quartered it before making his own sandwich. "Here you are," he said, handing the plate to Sherlock and sitting in his chair, a grin barely concealed playing across his features. 

Sherlock ate half his sandwich slowly and ponderously, before his mind started to run overtime and he finally blurted out "Why did you buy ice cream?"

John chewed and swallowed and then looked at Sherlock with barely masked satisfaction. "Because I thought a little ice cream would be nice for a treat?" he replied, feigning ignorance. 

Sherlock was having none of it, and set down his plate, crossing his arms over his bulging belly. "Why did you buy two half-gallon tubs of my favourite flavours?" 

"Aren't I allowed to buy my pregnant mate ice cream?" John took another bite of his sandwich. 

"Whatever you're planning, I want no part of it," Sherlock huffed, and angrily ate the remainder of his dinner. 

* * *

 

That ice cream taunted him all evening, and all day the next day, and the next and the one following that, until one day John came home to find a shirtless Sherlock eating the french vanilla direct from the carton. "Bit hungry?" John asked, and Sherlock jumped and hastened to slap the lid on. "No, no, it's fine, I bought it for you to eat, after all."

"You weren't planning anything special for it?" Sherlock asked, holding the carton to his chest with several degrees of suspicion. 

"Who says you eating it can't be special?" A shiver ran down Sherlock's spine at the implication, and he slowly reopened the container to spoon more ice cream into his mouth. "There you are. That's good. Eat as much as you want." 

John's crooning only heightened Sherlock's suspicions, but he continued to eat the creamy treat under John's watchful eye until he was satisfied. He swiped at his lips to wipe away the last of the dessert and smiled. "Happy?" 

"Mm, not just yet," John replied, and took the ice cream from Sherlock. Instead of putting it away as he'd expected, though, he took another spoonful and held it in front of Sherlock's mouth. 

Suddenly, Sherlock understood what was happening. He opened his mouth and let John feed the ice cream to him slowly, letting it melt before swallowing audibly. His eyes locked with John's and he let the doctor feed him spoonful after spoonful, humming indulgently as he swallowed each mouthful. 

Sherlock felt a little more than pleasantly full when John scraped the last few creamy remainders from the corners of the carton. His stomach gurgled as it began to digest the mass of ice cream he'd filled it with, and he let his gaze fall from John's eyes to look away, anywhere than those black pools of lust. 

"Enjoy your snack?" John asked, quietly, and Sherlock nodded. "Mm, good. Are you nice and full?" 

"Very," Sherlock answered, and slid a hand down to cup his belly. 

"Have you got room for more?" John asked, and Sherlock felt heat pool in his groin. 

Sherlock looked up, meeting John's gaze. "There's always room for more," he replied. 

* * *

 

A fresh carton of cold, creamy toffee ice cream was pulled from the freezer and short, well-manicured doctor's nails slit open the plastic seal. Those same fingers pried the lid off the carton and picked up the spoon once more, digging a heaping scoop from the centre of the container. 

Flushed lips parted to allow cool, curved silver to slide inside, and closed over slender metal, keeping the chilly sweet treat as the metal slid back out. Wet heat cooled, frozen cream melted and coated a deeply pink tongue before being swallowed, slowly and with an audible noise. 

Said cream slid down the long throat and into the stomach of one Sherlock Holmes, who groaned in mixed arousal and pain as his already-full belly protested the addition. One John Watson cooed and ran his hands over the mass of his husband's stomach, fingers kneading at tight skin and drawing more soft noises from the man's mouth. 

"John," the detective gasped, eyes only half-open as another spoonful of ice cream passed his lips and made its way into his stomach. His hands joined John's on his belly, stomach uncomfortably tight as it pressed against the baby sleeping in its home. 

"Ssh, it's okay. It'll all be over soon, just finish this carton and you'll be done." The doctor took another spoonful and slid it into Sherlock's mouth. 

"I don't know if I can," Sherlock whispered, hand rubbing his belly as it rumbled beneath his skin. 

"I know you can," John returned, and fed him another scoop. 

Spoonfuls became smaller and less frequent as Sherlock's belly filled, and filled, and filled, and filled. Trousers became restricting and painful, but when Sherlock made to unfasten them John's hands batted them away from the button and zip. "No, Sherlock, I'm going to fill you until you've got no more room, none of that just yet."

Half a carton to go. 

Sherlock moaned and shut his lips tightly against the next spoonful, and John clucked and set the spoon down on the wooden tabletop and ducked to unfasten Sherlock's trousers. His belly sagged outwards and Sherlock gasped in relief, millions of pounds of pressure suddenly leaving his stretched tummy. John pressed against his stomach, lifting the mass gently and feeling the weight of it in his hands. Sherlock moaned and rubbed at his belly button with three fingers, kneading the nub lightly. 

"Feel better?" John asked, pressing a kiss to his belly. 

Sherlock only nodded, knowing what was coming next. 

John picked up the spoon once more and fed Sherlock wordlessly. 

Fuller

and fuller

and fuller

and stretched

and pressure

and discomfort

and pain

and spoonful after spoonful of ice cream until Sherlock was rocking in his chair, eyes squeezed shut and grunting as his stomach churned. 

"No more," he gasped, "please, I can't." 

"Ssh, just a few more bites. You can do it." John laid a hand on Sherlock's tight belly and the detective winced and moaned. 

Almost against his will, his mouth opened once more. 

"Three," John murmured, and Sherlock swallowed. 

"Two," John murmured, and Sherlock moaned. 

"One," John murmured, and Sherlock cried out. 

"There, that's it. Wonderful, love. All done." John rubbed Sherlock's stomach ever so lightly, and Sherlock heaved several shallow breaths before slowly opening his eyes. 

He was _huge._

"That was a gallon," Sherlock rasped, laying his hands on the sides of his heavy, grumbling belly. 

"Yes, it was." Matter-of-factly, with more than a hint of satisfaction. 

"My god." Hot and heavy, his belly rested on his lap. His belly button marked the furthest point, and as he touched it lightly with a fingertip his nerves lit up. 

"Take a deep breath," John commanded. 

"I can't," Sherlock breathed, lungs constricted by the full mass of his belly. 

"Nonsense. Take a deep breath." And Sherlock tried, he did, but inhaling even the shallowest breath was painful and trying to fill his lungs was damn near blindingly so. 

And then his navel popped. 

"Yes," John hissed, and attacked the newly protruding nub with his tongue and teeth. 

"John!" Sherlock cried, writhing in pain and an onslaught of unexpected pleasure. John's teeth raked over the sensitive flesh and Sherlock was suddenly more aroused than he had ever been. He tried to rock his hips, but his belly sloshed and held him entirely in place, seizing painfully. 

"Yes, fantastic," John whispered, licking and kissing and making Sherlock feel entirely too good for being so ridiculously overfull. "I wanted to feed you until you were full to bursting with my baby and so much food you couldn't move, until your navel finally popped and proved you were as full as you could get, god you're beautiful," he finished, and rose from his crouch and Sherlock inhaled sharply as John…

Began to rut against his stomach. Rhythmically, up and forward and down and back and hard as diamonds against Sherlock's stuffed belly. "God, I love seeing you like this, so full and round with my baby. God, Sherlock, I need-"

"Fuck me," Sherlock interrupted, breathing harshly and gripping John's hips so tight he left white imprints beneath the fabric. "Fucking take me, please." He pushed John away and held his arms out so John could pull him to his feet, and though it hurt and _god_ did it hurt to stand he let John slide his trousers and pants down and off as he gripped the tabletop, knuckles white and heaving shallow breaths of pain. 

John slid his hand down to cup his hard cock and pressed against it as he watched Sherlock's slow, laboured waddle out of the kitchen. Back stiff and hips wide and feet splayed as he walked, so full, so round, so heavy, belly swaying with each step and god, John could come from just watching, so he squeezed his eyes shut and stilled the frantic movements of his hips. Waited until he heard the creaking of the mattress and oh god, Sherlock's pained noises before he followed into the bedroom. 

There he was, dear christ almighty, on all fours with his belly hanging heavy and round and _fucking brushing the duvet_ with each breath. Sherlock's head hung down and his eyes were shut tight and he panted shallowly before whispering "Are you going to fuck me or not because I swear to god I will impale myself on the bedpost-" and John rushed forward and stuck two spit-slicked fingers into that inviting arse.

Sherlock whined at the stretch but rocked back on John's fingers, and then his left shoulder dropped and John thought he was going to collapse but then a bottle of lube suddenly sailed out and landed at John's knees before Sherlock's back straightened once more. 

John used his teeth to open the flip lid and poured with his free hand onto the two fingers already sliding in and out of Sherlock's hole, and then added a third finger and was contemplating adding a fourth just minutes later when Sherlock clenched hard around his digits and cut off any other thought. 

"Get inside me," Sherlock growled, and John hastened to put the leaking head of his cock just inside Sherlock's entrance before sliding in slowly, letting Sherlock feel every inch of his cock. 

"Fuck," John groaned, nearly incoherent. His hips shuddered when he stilled, feeling Sherlock's body tight around him and oh fucking god was it hot, to hear Sherlock breathing so heavily underneath him. John slid his hands forward and settled them on Sherlock's waist, or what used to be of it; muscles defining the curve of his prior thinness to the full round heaviness that was their baby on his front. 

Suddenly, John cried out. Sherlock had opted for the wordless signal that John was allowed to move, and had given it in the form of an agonizingly pleasurable squeeze around John's prick. Without hesitation, John began to pound into Sherlock, setting a ruthless pace and reveling in the noises of pain and pleasure he tore from Sherlock's throat with each thrust. Sharp slaps of flesh against flesh rang out, slick noises and pained grunts and erotic moans and over top of all the noise was the sensation of Sherlock's body _quivering_ each time John pushed forward. 

Without warning, Sherlock dropped down, face half-buried in the pillow. John could hear his sobs - aroused and in pain - and saw Sherlock's hands move back to rub against his taut belly. John didn't let up, knowing Sherlock would call their safeword if it all became too much. Each hard thrust forward rocked Sherlock's belly into his hands, the new angle of Sherlock's body put John's cock right against the detective's prostate _and_ rubbed his navel against the sheets. 

It didn't take long. Sherlock could only keen once in warning before the noise grew to a scream and he came hard, clenching around John's prick as his own cock spilled hot and wet across his swollen belly. 

John didn't last much longer; three more thrusts had him calling out his own orgasm and pulsing deep inside his mate. Sherlock was gasping in pleasure beneath him, still coming down from his release as John filled him with his own. John shook for long seconds after his cock went limp inside Sherlock, and finally slid out with a drawn-out sigh.

Sherlock was still propped up on his head and shoulders, but turned his head to look at John when he flopped down exhaustedly beside him. When Sherlock only looked at him lazily, John drew in a breath and laughed. "You planning on staying like that for awhile? Arse in the air and all?" 

"For now, it's comfortable," Sherlock mumbled into the pillow, hand still rubbing slowly over his distended belly. "I'm a bit full, you see." 

"I do see." John grinned and laid his own hand alongside Sherlock's, running his thumb over a swath of stretched, hot skin. 

"I may never move again," Sherlock continued as though John hadn't said anything. "I am quite simply too stuffed to function." 

"Oh, come now. Surely you burned off some calories with that, just then," John quipped. "And besides, you can talk, which means you at least have enough room for your lungs to work." 

Sherlock huffed and slowly maneuvered to lay on his side. "Hardly. I will never know why I allow you to coax me into doing such things to myself; it rarely ends well." 

"I'd say that ended relatively well, if we're honest," John replied, hand still massaging Sherlock's skin.

Sherlock huffed again. "Yes, well, you're not the one with a stomachache and an eight-month foetus trying to turn circles in your belly. It's not very happy, you see, as its home has become rather cramped in the last three hours and it's having a difficult time finding enough room to change positions." He frowned and slid his hand down the side of his belly. 

"Mm, I can see why that would be uncomfortable, yeah. Budge over, I'll give that big belly a good rub." Sherlock rolled his eyes but complied, scooting over until his belly was in John's capable hands. Those short doctor's fingers expertly massaged, avoiding the tight painful skin over Sherlock's overfull stomach and rubbing around the edges at first to relax his muscles. Sherlock dozed off several times, only awakening when the baby started to fidget. John's fingers were only now starting to move towards the crest of his belly, where his new outie of a navel stuck out jauntily. 

"Careful there. That's entirely too sensitive," Sherlock murmured, and John smirked and ran the pad of his thumb over the wide nub. "John," he said, a bit louder, in warning, but John feigned ignorance and took no heed. 

Where once Sherlock's navel had been flat, nestled inward along the flat planes of his stomach, it had gradually stretched as his belly grew with their baby. John had watched frustratedly as it stayed stubbornly flat, instead of marking Sherlock's gravidity the way he knew it was supposed to. To stuff Sherlock so full that the only way to go was out was the only way John thought he might get that stubborn navel to pop, and it had been so satisfying to see it invert before his eyes. 

John so wanted to lave attention on that new button, but he had one last desire before he did so. "Sherlock," he asked softly, "Do you think you could drink a bottle of water for me?" 

* * *

 

"John, it's not possible, I can't. Not right now, I'm too full." Sherlock protested gently, as John handed him the clear plastic bottle. 

"As much as you can. You don't have to finish it if you can't, but please. Just a few sips, if you can." John held the bottle a few centimeters closer, and with a sigh Sherlock took it and unscrewed the cap. His grey eyes locked with John's as he took the first sip, and then squeezed closed as he swallowed. "Ow," he whined, and rested the bottle on the top curve of his belly. "Give me a few moments, please." 

"Thank you," John murmured, and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's cheek before he rose and moved to the closet. 

"What in god's name are you doing?" Sherlock asked, but John remained silent as he rifled through the hanging shirts. He finally pulled what appeared to be a black tee from the closet, and moved back to Sherlock's side and motioned for him to lift his arms. 

The pregnant man complied, and John slid the soft cotton over Sherlock's head and pulled it down until the hem rested on the topmost curve of Sherlock's belly. There, he paused, and leant down to whisper into Sherlock's ear. 

"I want to see your belly stretch and the shirt ride up. That's what the water's for. And then I'm going to bring you off again." He felt Sherlock shiver beneath him, and tugged the shirt down further, goosepimples rising on his skin as the cloth stretched and resisted. The hem covered just a few inches below Sherlock's navel, and John teased the nub through the cloth. Sherlock's hips bucked and he inhaled sharply, and then took a giant swallow of water. 

With the cloth on, John could see each minute stretch of the already massive belly as the hem rose up. 

A small swallow, a small lift. 

A large swallow, a hiccough of pain, and an extremely rewarding lift upwards. 

And again, and again, until John could no longer resist and began licking the detective's navel through the cloth. 

Sherlock bucked again and shouted in pleasure, vocalising louder and longer when John bit and worried the nub with his teeth. "Keep drinking," John growled, and Sherlock took as large a swallow of water as he could and grunted when his stomach protested. 

And then, Sherlock did the impossible and _chugged._  

Half a bottle of water, downed so quickly that the shirt entirely gave up and sprang upwards, rubbing tightly over Sherlock's navel as it rose and finally exposed it to John's hot, wet mouth. 

A hand slid beneath Sherlock's tight painful belly and wrapped around his hard cock, stroking it in time with John's well-timed tongueings of the sensitive navel. Sherlock's head was tossed back and forth on the pillow and his hands fisted in the sheets as John fucked his belly button with his tongue. John grunted in frustration and paused for a moment before pushing Sherlock flat on his back and aligning their cocks. He rocked his hips forward against the base of Sherlock's belly and thumbed at the detective's protruding navel, pressing and rubbing and pushing it inwards and upwards and to the side and damn well _assaulting_ it while he rutted against Sherlock's prick and solid belly. 

And wonder of wonders, they both came simultaneously, their groans rising and twining together in a cacophony of shouts and wails and their cocks both erupted and set them both to shivering as wave after wave of pleasure washed over them. John lost his rhythm and simply shuddered against Sherlock, and the detective threw his head back and gripped at the sheets as his cock pulsed over his belly again. 

They were silent for much longer this time, save for Sherlock's pained and exhausted grunts as he shifted onto his side. His eyes drifted closed but opened slowly when John's fingertips brushed sweaty curls away from his forehead. "I'm gonna go shower, love," John murmured. "Do you want to join me?" 

"The shower's not all that big, John," Sherlock responded, but moved to sit up anyway. John helped him sit up, and chuckled as he pulled himself to his feet. "What?" Sherlock asked, and John turned to look at him, an amused twinkle in his eye. 

"I was just going to say…there's always room for more." 


End file.
